


Scratch that off the list

by rea_p



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: 16th Century CE, Gen, Humor, Short, Tudor, Tudor England
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_p/pseuds/rea_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tedious task of inventorying an estate, made slightly less tedious by the sudden appearance of a man with a very long scarf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch that off the list

Thomas Saunders, clark, sat at his desk reading off the items in Elizabeth Smallgood will while his nephew, Henry, pulled the items out of the dead woman’s trunks and boxes.

They had been at it since they broke their fast, and it was past noon.

Thomas paused to scratch at the back of his neck under both shirt and doublet. His collar was wearing thin, he’d have to replace the thing soon. “To my daughter Jane, my long pearls with garnets.” His nephew held up the strand and he nodded at the boy. A good lad, Henry, with wits near as quick as the King he was named for, although not the fiery temper or ginger hair.

“To my daughter Anne, my…” Thomas trailed off, trying to figure out the next word “Cartademallick pendant, may it bring her luck.”

“What?” asked Henry.

Although the word was unfamiliar, the mention of luck was all Thomas needed. “A big purple stone set in silver. Widow Smallgood used to wear it all the time.” Henry continued to look confused, and his uncle sighed. “Folk in the village said it was the source of her uncommon good luck?”

“Ooooooh,” said Henry, and dug through the jewelry box.

As the boy pulled out the necklace, the door crashed open. Ducking through it came a strangely tall man in a strangely cut coat of velvet, a hat like none they’d ever seen, and the most absurd scarf in Christendom. Stranger still, he was followed by an equally tall woman whose long dark hair was uncovered.

The man looked at the pendant dangling from Henry’s hand. “Aha! See, Romana, I told you we’d find it here!” He took it from the boy, tipped his hat to the two confused Englishmen, and dashed out of the room. The brazenly underdressed woman followed him, spewing forth complaints.

“Who were they?” gasped Henry, once he’d closed his codfish mouth.

Thomas shook his head. “Muscovites, I suppose.”

His nephew was not entirely convinced. “They spoke very good English.”

“I suppose they did,” Thomas said. He considered chasing down the strangers, but Widow Smallgood’s son was not a generous man, or terribly kind, nor were her daughters much better. Their mother had left them plenty, so what was one less jewel in their casket?

“It is a shame we cannot find the pendant,” Thomas said, giving his nephew a strong look. When the boy looked to protest, he added “We may have to drink a glass to its loss tonight.”

“Terrible shame,” the boy quickly agreed.

Thomas continued with his litany. “To my daughter Jane, my best red petticote…”


End file.
